A Just Soul
by JustSonya
Summary: SLASH - A misfit curse links Harry and Snape emotionally.
1. No Thought Before

"What I say wouldn't persuade many perhaps. For know well, Socrates" he said, "that when a man comes near to the realization that he will be making an end, fear and care enter him for things to which he gave no thought before." - Plato. The Republic (330d-e)  
  
Looking out almost any of the windows of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would show an observer an idyllic winter scene. Snow drifted lazily down from a white, overcast sky, covering the grounds of the castle. White puffs of warm air jetted out from the lips of anyone brave enough to step outside the warm halls, into the winter weather. White draped the trees on the grounds, and ice coated the edges of the lake.  
  
Should one look out the windows closest to the main entrance to the school however, a different view could be seen.  
  
Shouts rang across the courtyard, and weapons flew through the air. A battle raged on the very steps of Hogwarts, a clash of titanic proportions. On one side, valiant young Harry Potter led his troops in an attempt to defend the sacred halls of the castle from invaders. On the other, a truly dastardly duo led their troops in an effort to conquer. Evil grins lit their faces as they looked at their opponents, and they rubbed their hands together gleefully.  
  
"Now!" the nearest one yelled, and ducked.  
  
His compatriot waved his wand, and proclaimed loudly, "wingardium leviosa".  
  
Their loyal army threw themselves to the ground, as a large pile of projectile weaponry flew over their heads, targeting the loyal defenders.  
  
Harry and his troops had but a moment to stare at the onslaught approaching them. Then, it was too late. The impact occurred. Ron Weasley was the first to fall, knocked from his feet by multiple impacts. Hermione Granger fell next, clutching her chest and gasping at the impact. Harry watched his loyal soldiers fall around him, closed his eyes, and braced himself.  
  
Multiple blows took him to his knees, and blinded him.  
  
"Surrender!" shouted the leaders of the invading army.  
  
"Oh shut up, George!" replied Ron, scraping snow from his body.  
  
"Really Fred, using a charm could definitely be considered cheating!" Hermione declared, brushing the small mounds of snow off her chest, and out of her hair.   
  
"Mmmhppphhh...." said Harry, or tried to, as his face had been thoroughly plastered with snow. Not even his glasses could be seen through the snow.  
  
Hermione and Ron quickly helped him clean himself off, and to his feet. He glared evilly at the twins, as his team rose up off the steps of Hogwarts, a desire for revenge gleaming brightly in their eyes.   
  
They froze at the sight of the opposing team practically helpless with laughter.  
  
Harry raised his wand, looked to his loyal compatriots, smiled evilly, and then the brawl began.  
  
Curses, hexes and charms flew through the air between the two teams. Counter spells flew between teammates as they worked to minimize the damage. Skin, hair and clothing changed colors. Legs jellied, and solidified. Bodies levitated and settled again on the earth. An occasional "petrificus totalus" dropped a student to the ground, only to be released again. The spells became more creative as the battle raged across the front steps of Hogwarts.  
  
Suddenly, the doors to the castle flew open, and from the darkness of the hallway strode the Potions Master, Severus Snape. His black eyes snapped with irritation as he swept forward, waving away the occasional misdirected hex or curse.  
  
"Enough!" he yelled, his voice soaring loudly over the ongoing brawl, quickly bringing it to a halt.  
  
Unfortunately, he caught two participants mid-curse, scaring them into mispronunciation. This alone, would likely have resulted in a humorous result, if the two curses hadn't crossed mid-flight, and merged. The altered course of the new spell took it straight towards Professor Snape. It struck him in the back, knocking him to the ground. As if that wasn't bad enough, it bounced, and smacked right into the center of Harry Potter's face. Harry joined Professor Snape on the ground, unconscious. 


	2. What I Did Mean

"No, by Zeus," he said. "But I no longer know what I did mean. However, it is still my opinion that justice is helping friends and harming enemies." Plato. The Republic (334b-c)  
  
  
Harry woke up in the infirmary. Gentle light from the window fell across the bed he was laying on, telling him he hadn't been unconscious for long, unless a whole day had passed. His head felt stuffy, as though it were filled with cotton. Unfortunately, this cotton seemed to tickle and move through his head, making him dizzy every time he tried to focus on it. Shrugging, he gave up on identifying the feeling, and sat up, feeling around for his glasses.  
  
Having found his glasses on the bedside table, he looked around. The last he remembered seeing was a mangled curse strike Professor Snape in the back, knocking him to the ground, and then that same spell flying straight at his face. He ran his fingers over his face just to make sure all the parts were where he had left them last. He was pleased to find that his nose was still approximately where it had been that morning, and that he still had two eyes, one mouth, and two ears. There wasn't much else he could tell by touch. For all he knew, he could be purple with yellow spots.  
  
That very thought was enough to propel him off the bed, and towards the bathroom. As he pushed aside the curtain that secluded him from the rest of the large infirmary, he saw Professor Snape lying nearby, still unconscious. His large, billowing cloak had been removed, and lay with his overcoat on a nearby chair. It was surprising to see how different Snape looked with his outer layers removed. The garments obviously added a bit of bulk to his frame, because he looked much more slender than he normally appeared. Harry had to stop and stare. He had never seen Snape as anything other than in complete control, or completely furious. Snape looked... relaxed. Astonishing.  
  
The sound of Madam Pomfrey bustling into the infirmary propelled Harry into motion, and he completed his trek to the bathroom. After confirming that he was, indeed, spotless, and all of the same color he had been in the morning, as well as the same height, width, weight and gender, he was satisfied.  
  
Returning to the main room of the infirmary, he noticed that Professor Snape had awoken. Madam Pomfrey was leaning over him, checking him over. She caught sight of Harry out of the corner of her eye, and straightened.  
  
"There you are, Harry. Back to bed with you, until I'm sure that there are no harmful side effects from that mess of a spell you were hit with." After ushering him back to bed, she turned back to Snape, only to catch him in the act of reaching for his cloak and overcoat, obviously attempting to sneak out while she was distracted.  
  
"Drop 'em, Severus, and get back on the bed." Her tone left no room for disobedience.  
  
"Poppy, I assure you, I'm quite fine. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to my quarters, and away from the living train wreck that is Potter before it runs me over yet again." The bite in Snape's tone could have peeled flesh from bone. Madam Pomfrey waved it off indifferently and picked up her wand threateningly.  
  
"Don't make me immobilize you again Severus."  
  
Snape sat. Quickly. Harry suppressed a smile at the reaction, knowing full well that letting it out would result in a thorough scolding by his Potions Professor.  
  
"There's no need for threats Poppy," Snape muttered, slouching grumpily on the cot. His expression clearly showed his displeasure with not being allowed to leave the infirmary.  
  
Madam Pomfrey ignored him and waved her wand, running it over his body slowly, while firing off a list of questions for him to answer. Finally she seemed satisfied, and tucked her wand back into her pocket. Snape moved as if to stand, and promptly sank back down at the look in her eyes.  
  
"Stay." She commanded, and made her way over to Harry's bed. This served the unfortunate purpose of bringing Harry back to Snape's attention.  
  
"Mr. Potter," Snape began, "I see that once again, I have you to thank for landing me in the infirmary. Do you plan to make a habit of this?"  
  
Harry flushed, thinking back to the last school year, his fifth, in which a confrontation between himself and Voldemort had resulted in a well-disguised Snape being struck with several nasty curses while helping Harry to escape to safety. Snape had spent a week in the infirmary as a result. It hadn't helped that Harry's own carelessness and rule breaking had led to the confrontation. He was quite sure he would never live it down. How was he supposed to explain to Snape that certain realizations in his life had caused him to wander carelessly off school grounds?  
  
"Sorry sir." Harry replied, lowering his gaze to the floor. "I would like to point out, however, that if anyone is to blame this time, it would be Fred and George. They started the fight in the first place."  
  
"Yet it is obvious that the idiocy of the Weasley twins is contagious, or we wouldn't be here, now would we, Mr. Potter?"   
  
"Now Severus," Madame Pomfrey interrupted, "It was just a bit of fun for the students, after all, and no one was hurt." Having finished her examination of Harry, she turned to face them both.  
  
"If either of you experience any side effects, I want to see you back here immediately. However, as I can see no immediate effects of the spell, you are both free to go. Go on, off with you." With that, she turned away, and bustled back into her office.  
  
Snape snatched his overcoat and quickly pulled it on, leaving it unbuttoned in his haste. His cloak he merely tossed carelessly over his shoulders. It was obvious he wanted to get out of the infirmary as quickly as possible.  
  
"Professor?" Harry asked, silently kicking himself for speaking at all.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Snape's expression was foreboding, his angry eyes glaring at Harry.  
  
"I really am sorry. It was careless of us to begin with." Harry managed to squeeze out his apology without stuttering once. He was quite proud of himself.  
  
Snape glared at him for a moment, eyes shooting sparks. Then, something amazing happened. He sighed, ran a hand over his eyes wearily, and looked away.  
  
"Mr. Potter, it may be that when the aches and pains from my impact to the ground have faded, I would be more inclined to listen to an apology. Until then, I suggest you leave me be. Unless you care to discuss a loss of points from Gryffindor?"  
  
With that, he swept out of the infirmary, not looking back.  
  
Harry exhaled sharply in frustration. He had only been trying to apologize. Then something occurred to him. Snape had looked - exhausted. What had his Professor been up to, to seem so weary? Even his last retort had lacked its usual bite.  
  
Whatever was going on, Harry was determined to get to the bottom of it. 


	3. Revealed Himself

Part III  
  
Later that night, Harry found himself happily ensconsed in bed. He hadn't mentioned his concerns to   
Ron and Hermione yet. He wanted to do some snooping himself first, before getting them involved in   
a task that would take them on a direct collision course with Professor Snape. After all, why should   
they all lose points?  
  
His mind spinning as he tried to plan his investigation, he slowly drifted off to sleep.  
  
It seemed as though Harry had fallen backwards in time. He stood once again in the cemetary where   
he first faced Voldemort at the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He recognized the gravestones,  
including the one belonging to Tom Riddle's father.   
  
There was no cauldron now. Instead, Harry stood in the middle of a large circle of Death Eaters.   
Before him stood his enemy, Voldemort. Fear raced through him at the sight. How was he going   
to escape? He could see no easy way out, and found himself clenching his wand. If nothing else,   
he would take as many Death Eaters with him as possible when he died, he decided.  
  
Then came the paradigm shift. Voldemort looked him directly in the eyes, and rather than the disdain   
and hatred he had come to find familiar in those red, glaring eyes, he saw suspicion, and anger. Then   
Voldemort spoke.  
  
"Severus, you did not come to me when I called you. Yet now you stand before me, decaring your loyalty   
to me?" His anger was apparent in his voice.  
  
Harry found his body moving forward, and kneeling at the feet of the Dark Lord. As he looked down, he found   
black hair falling in his face, and saw a familiar black robe. Neither of which were his.  
  
"Master, I could not come to you easily without arousing the suspicions of Dumbledore, as well as others.   
I was in the presence of the Minister of Magic as well as Dumbledore, and Apparating to you at that time would   
have lent credence to Potter's story upon his return. My presence nearby did much to reassure Fudge that Potter's   
story consisted of the mad ramblings of an unstable boy." Harry found the smooth words rolling off his tonge in a   
voice he knew all too well. Only one man could speak with that smooth, black, velvety voice. What was going on here?  
  
He was distracted by the swift movement of Voldemort's wand in his direction.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
His entire body shook in pain. His muscles shook with the effort to maintain upright on his knees.   
His pride refused to allow him to fall to the ground. His jaw clenched shut, allowing no sound to   
escape. He would not scream, not for Voldemort, not for anyone. Where was this determination coming   
from? Harry knew very well that he had, and would, scream and fall under the Cruciatus Curse. Was   
this emotion coming from Snape? Was Snape truly strong enough, proud enough, to resist the effects of   
the most painful curse ever invented?  
  
The pain seemed to last forever. He could feel it wearing on his resolve, but he would not surrender   
to it. It was, after all, only pain. In a way, the pain felt almost familiar to his body.  
  
"Finite Incantatum."  
  
A deep, shuddering breath was the only sign he gave that he noticed the release from the curse. Slowly,   
his muscles began to unclench. He knew better than to relax, however. Harry had the feeling that this   
scene was a familiar one to Snape. The fact that he seemed to know that this was not the end of the torture   
was clear enough. How could Snape bear it?   
  
For that matter, why was he dreaming about Snape? Why was he walking in Snape's body, of all people?   
Why was he dreaming about being Snape, and more importantly, why was Snape placating Voldemort? Was   
Ron right, was Snape really a traitor? Harry simply couldn't believe that. Albus Dumbledore trusted   
Snape, and Harry would as well. He knew Dumbledore had asked something of Snape at the end of Harry's   
fourth year, but he'd had no idea this was what Snape had gone through.  
  
His body had started to relax slightly, as the curse had not been cast again. His breathing slowed, and   
his jaw unclenched. He could still feel the effects of the curse as pain sang out occassionally along his   
nerves, never in the same place twice. He sagged back somewhat on his heels, and lowered his head to the   
ground before Voldemort.  
  
"Master, I beg of you, forgive my absence. My loyalty to you is absolute. I simply did as I thought best   
to protect you, so soon after your return." His voice was no longer smooth, but more like fine sandpaper. The   
strain of holding in the sreams had strained the normal fine velvet of Snape's voice.  
  
"Severus, you were once my finest servant. Your cruelty had no rival, except in myself. Now I fear I cannot   
truly trust you. What would you do to restore my trust in you? What would you do to restore the trust my loyal  
servants once held in you?" His body tensed at the trap Voldemort carefully wove into his words. Knowing he   
had no choice, he answered carefully.  
  
"Anything you wish, Master."  
  
"Very well Severus, I will test your resolve. Come, my loyal servants. Severus has promised he would do anything   
to restore your trust in him. Come, and test him."  
  
The evil laughter of the Death Eaters gave Harry a good idea of what was about to happen. As the hands reached for   
him, touching, hurting, tearing, he felt himself forced violently from the dream.  
  
He woke screaming in his own bed, safe in the Gryffindor dormatory. His whole body was trembling, and he was soaked   
with sweat. His stomach began to churn as his mind tossed up the last few images from his dream, and he bolted for the   
bathrooms, falling to his knees and emptying his stomach. After he was finished, he rested his sweaty forehead against   
the cold porcelain and allowed the coolness of it to seep into his body.  
  
He reviewed the dream carefully in his mind. It hadn't been prophetic, his scar hand't hurt at all. The more he   
thought about it, the more he realized that what he witnessed must have happened soon after the Tournament. Snape had   
allowed his hair to grow over the last year or so, now reaching well below his shoulders. He realized the hair falling   
in his face as he knelt before Voldemort in the dream had been barely shoulder-length.  
  
He realized Snape had returned to Voldemort's service soon after Harry had returned to Hogwarts with Cedric's body.   
He had managed to buy his way back into the circle of Death Eaters with the pain and torment of his own body and soul.   
Harry shuddered at the thought of the pain and torture he had witnessed in his dream. If this is how Snape had bought   
his way back in, Harry couldn't believe that any information was worth what Snape had experienced. Dumbledore had no   
right to ask Snape to go through this kind of torment just to act as a spy. Was Dumbledore even aware of what Snape   
went through to collect information for him?  
  
As he slowly made his way back to his bed, Harry was faced with one more question he couldn't answer. Why was he   
dreaming of Snape, and more importantly, why was he dreaming of himself as Snape? 


	4. Hatreds and Quarrels

Part IV  
  
"For surely, Thrasymachus, its injustice that produces factions, hatreds and quarrels among themselves, and justice that produces unanimity and friendship. Isn't it so?" Plato. The Republic (351d).  
  
When Harry made his way down the next morning for breakfast, it was to a nearly empty hall. The holiday break had emptied the castle yesterday, and Fred and George had apparently left to return to their new shop in Hogsmeade. Their visit had been a great deal of fun, but given the result, he couldn't really mourn their departure.  
  
Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in their normal spot at the Gryffindor table, talking quietly. Harry sat down with his friends, and filled his plate. He was too tired and disoriented to focus on what they were saying, and so chose to focus on filling his stomach. His head was spinning as he replayed the previous night's dream.  
  
What caught his attention the most about the dream was the sheer pride and strength Snape had demonstrated. Who would have thought that his snarky, snarly Potions Professor would have such strength in him?   
  
Of course, Harry knew that his view of Snape wasn't entirely fair, and had realized that earlier in the year. With age had come certain maturity, and the awareness that they all had a role to play in the conflict between Voldemort and those who stood against him.   
  
Snape's was one of the more dangerous and vulnerable roles. He consistently put himself at risk to gather information on Voldemort's activities, knowing that should his actions be discovered, he would be killed. Even more dangerous, the fine line he walked in the wizarding world, which saw him as a Death Eater and had no clue of his acts of espionage. He risked much to provide the information he acquired.  
  
As if his thoughts summoned the man himself, Snape strode into the hall, and made his way to his normal spot at the staff table. Harry found his eyes drawn to Snape, and watched him seat and serve himself. He couldn't pull his eyes away. Snape looked exhausted, as though he had hardly slept. Was it possible that they had shared the same dream? Harry continued to stare, until Ron's elbow jabbed him firmly in the ribs.  
  
"Harry! Pay attention." Ron reprimanded him, drawing his attention away.   
  
Harry turned to Ron with a questioning look on his face. Both Ron and Hermione were staring at him expectantly.  
  
"What?" he asked, wondering what he had missed while not paying attention to his friends.  
  
"Honestly Harry, haven't you heard a word we've said?" Hermione's frustration was evident in her voice.   
  
"Sorry 'Mione," he mumbled, "I was thinking about something. What did I miss?"  
  
"Ron was telling me that you woke screaming in the middle of the night. What's the matter? Did you have another… you know…" she pointed to his forehead to indicate the visions he occasionally received of Voldemort.  
  
"Oh! No. Just another nightmare. Nothing to worry about, really." Harry quickly reassured his friends, hoping they wouldn't push him for an answer. He hated keeping things from them, but he wasn't sure how to explain that he was dreaming about Snape, of all people.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Snape standing to leave. Excusing himself quickly, he stood and followed the dark, billowing robes out into the hallway. Ron and Hermione stared after him blankly.  
  
"Professor—" Harry called out, hurrying to catch up with Snape.  
  
Snape stopped and turned so abruptly that Harry didn't have time to stop his headlong rush, and ran smack into him. Snape grunted at the impact, and grabbed Harry's arms to stabilize him before he fell backwards onto the floor. Harry found himself pressed firmly against Snape's front. Startled, he looked up, and his eyes locked with flashing black eyes. Something he didn't recognize moved through those eyes, something dark, and dangerous, and appealing. He was abruptly pushed away.  
  
"Mr. Potter, if you are trying to put me back into the infirmary, might I suggest simply pushing me down a couple flights of stairs, or dropping a large piece of furniture on me? Running me down is going to do nothing but cost you points." Snape sneered down at Harry from the good six inches he still stood over the boy.  
  
"I'm sorry Professor, but I had a question for you, and you just turned so quickly, and…."   
  
"Enough! Must you run on at the mouth Potter? What do you need?"  
  
"Professor, sir, I need to know what happened when you returned to Voldemort." Harry managed to get the question out in one rush, and was quite proud that he managed to not faint after asking it. Although as Snape's face darkened with anger, Harry questioned whether fainting might have been the better option, after all. Snape in a full roar was not what he needed to start his day.  
  
He braced himself for the outburst, fully prepared for the verbal lashing he was about to receive. Eyes closed, hands clenched, he simply waited. Instead of an explosion of harsh words, he heard a deep sigh. His eyes flew open in surprise.  
  
Snape was looking at him, and that weary expression had returned to his face.  
  
"Must you cringe at every turn, Potter? Its not as if I go around beating you with whips, or hanging you by your thumbs at every chance." Harry chose to ignore the muttered "Although that might do you some good…" that Snape tacked on as an afterthought.  
  
"In regards to your question, its really none of your business. Your sheer impudence in asking me indicates that perhaps you have not spent enough time in detention. We will correct that immediately. Report to my classroom at seven this evening to begin serving your detention."  
  
"But… detention…. on holiday break… but……" Harry could barely get a word out. He couldn't believe the absolute unfairness of Snape's actions.  
  
"Seven this evening, Potter, and be on time." With that, Snape stalked off down the hallway, his robes billowing around him. 


	5. The One Bad and the Other Good

Part V  
  
"Now don't only show us by the argument that justice is stronger than injustice, but show what each in itself does to the man who has it that makes the one bad and the other good." Plato. The Republic (367b).  
  
Severus Snape sat relaxing calming in his rooms. He had cast off his robes, and his overcoat lay over the back of his couch. Having comfortably unbuttoned his shirt halfway down and kicked off his boots, he was now slumped casually on his couch, staring moodily into his fireplace.  
  
Normally Severus found the dark, brooding tones of his rooms relaxing. He had deliberately chosen dark, lush fabrics for his couch and chairs, and dark woods for his many bookcases, fireplace, and desk. Even the rugs strewn across the stone floors carried the tone. Dark greens, silvers and black created a calming environment in which he could rest, and recover from the outside world.  
  
He had gotten very little sleep the night before, having torn himself roughly from the recurring nightmare of his return to Voldemort's side. The memory of what he had allowed, simply so that he could continue to spy for Albus, caused him to shudder. He truly believed that Albus thought he exaggerated the brutality of the Death Eaters when giving his reports. No one, with the exception of Poppy Pomfrey, knew of all the scars that laced his body. He was covered in scars, both from his recent encounters, and scars that he had acquired before Harry Potter's defeat of Voldemort. He kept them carefully hidden, both with heavy clothing, and with charms when circumstances required it.  
  
Eventually, he'd even given up taking lovers, as the strain of hiding them became more effort than the encounters seemed worth to him. Only here, in his quarters, could he let down the illusions, both physical and magical, and simply be.  
  
Sitting up slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, tossing it to join his overcoat. His slacks soon followed. Finally, he allowed himself to lie back on the couch, feet hanging off the end, with only his boxers as covering. He could see the scars tracing over his arms, chest and legs.   
  
He reached a hand out and lifted his mug of tea from the table in front of his couch. Sipping slowly, he allowed the warm tea to soothe his body. The potions he had mixed in should allow him a few hours of undisturbed rest before Potter arrived to serve detention tonight. Returning his mug to the table, he found himself smirking at the true maliciousness of assigning detention over the holiday break. That was his last conscious thought before he drifted off to sleep.  
  
His first thought as the dream took shape around him was that he definitely needed to up the dosage of his potions if they failed this quickly. His second was more along the lines of relief. This dream he knew well, and it wasn't as horrifying as many of the others he suffered with nightly.  
  
He stood, all of fifteen, in the Great Hall. Moving forward, he was quickly reminded of the fact that while as an adult he was graceful, at fifteen, he had been too tall, too thin, and unbelievably awkward. No trace of his usual sweeping glide could be seen in his ungraceful walk to the Slytherin table. He found himself joining Malfoy, Avery and a few others he would later come to loathe and despise.  
  
"Severus, you're late." Lucius Malfoy's voice was like steel, cold, and clean.  
"Got held back in Transfiguration, you know that." His response was cool, and calm. His students would have been surprised to realize how little his verbal mannerisms had changed since his youth. That armor had been in place firmly, long before he'd ever arrived at Hogwarts. His parents had seen to that.  
  
"What on earth possessed you to transfigure Black's desk into a Komodo Dragon Severus? You're lucky McGonnagall let you off with nothing but a firm lecture. Although the look on Black's face when it started lunging at his legs was more than worth it."  
  
"He started it, as you very well know Lucius. I was the one who woke up with pink hair, if you'll kindly remember?"  
  
"How can you be so sure it was Black?" Avery simply couldn't sit the conversation out. Annoying as always.  
  
"Because Potter or Lupin would have chosen Gryffindor red." Severus couldn't believe that after all this time his "friends" still seemed so dense. These were the great threat to the wizarding world today?  
  
Deciding that he wasn't hungry after all, Severus stood up and strode away from the table. Moving carefully down the hallway, toward the staircase, he tried determinedly to change the course of the dream. He should have known better by now.  
  
The first blow caught him at the top of the staircase that descended into the dungeons. It sent him flying down the stairs, head over heels. He could feel the air being pushed from his lungs in the repeated impacts. Finally he came to rest at the bottom. Before he could bring himself to sit up, he was kicked firmly in the side, forcing him to roll onto his back.  
  
Sirius Black stood above him, anger making his eyes snap. He planted his boot firmly on Severus' throat, and glared down at him.  
  
"Greasy bastard, I should break your neck for that little trick. Of course, its nothing I wouldn't expect from a Slytherin. Did you enjoy gloating about it with your bastard friends?"  
  
Rather than replying, Severus put some of his well-earned knowledge to work, and planted his fist right between Black's legs. As Black doubled over, Severus rolled away from him, and slowly got to his feet. Both the worse for wear they glared at each other from opposite sides of the hallway.  
  
"Black, even an ignorant fool like yourself should know well enough by now that playing tricks like that on me is guaranteed to provoke a response."  
  
"What are you talking about, you stupid git? I haven't gotten you good since I set you on fire in Potions last month." Black stared at Severus with confusion in his eyes.  
Severus stared at Black for a minute, and then, without a word, turned and walked away. Reaching the entrance to the Slytherin common room, he gave the password. As the door opened, a snippet of conversation reached his ears, before it was quickly stifled.  
  
"Can you believe Snape fell for it? The greasy bastard was convinced Black was the one who charmed his shampoo."  
  
There was no mistaking that steel cold voice. Pretending not to have heard, Severus entered the common room, climbed the stairs to his dormitory, and threw himself down on his bed. Before his head could hit the pillow, the sound of his alarm jerked him roughly upright.  
  
Severus fell abruptly off the couch and onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table. A muttered word silenced his alarm, and he realized he had slept longer than he had thought. Potter would be here in less than an hour.  
  
Upstairs, in the Gryffindor common room, Harry snapped awake and fell out of the chair he had been napping in, while basking in the warmth of the fire. As he sat on the floor gasping, the dream came back to him. What caught his attention the most was the sheer sense of pain and betrayal that Snape had felt when throwing himself down on the bed.   
  
The realization that he had been manipulated, for the entertainment of others, by those who claimed to be his friends. The burning question of whether he could have been friends with the Marauders, and if their conflicts had been staged by others, and could have been avoided.  
  
One look at the clock snapped him out of his thoughts. He had to hurry and get ready, or he would be late for detention. 


End file.
